Aesthetics
by Countess de Chagny
Summary: I imagine a demon has no 'loyalties' or 'principles'...but do they feel? CielxSebastian
1. Introduction

**A/N: My first ever fan fic! Set immediately after the end of Black Butler II. Please R&R! I love feedback! And, obviously, I don't own Sebastian or Ciel...:( **

**-Aesthetics-**

_**Introduction**_

'Yes, my lord'

Gravity sucked the boy and his butler down, down, downward. Darkness engulfed the two figures greedily, leaving no trace that anyone had been there mere moments before; like they had vanished from existence.

The boy's grey-blue hair whipped up with the descent, slapping against his butler's face.

_His_ butler. The corners of Ciel's mouth tucked up at the thought. That fool of a boy Trancy might have had his own interest at heart when he contracted with Hannah, but Ciel doubted it could have worked out any better for _himself._ Normally, the surrounding darkness compounded with the wind would have made seeing anything almost impossible, but Ciel found that he had no trouble seeing his butler. _It must be a demon thing, _he thought to himself_. _His blue eye flicked up to the butler's face, the icy wind buffeting his exposed eyelid in the process. Stoic, as ever, with raven hair swirling around in the wind. As always, Sebastian's face betrayed no emotion. Something about Sebastian's unwavering calm needled the young Earl.

_Surely you are frustrated, surely. The prize you sought, the soul you wanted and slaved for as a menial butler for all this time –taken from your grasp; forever._

Again, the Phantomhive earl smirked to himself. Sebastian glanced down at the boy in his arms, one perfect eyebrow raised slightly; 'What is it you find amusing, young master?' Neither curiosity nor care prompted this question, and Ciel knew it.

Ciel's smirk disappeared. 'You must be roiling with hatred right now, Sebastian. Towards Trancy, for robbing you of my soul, towards Hannah, for seducing him.' The boy demon paused. 'And towards me, for being of no use to you now...and yet still your master. Do you hate them, mmm? _Hate me_?'

Sebastian studied his master's face for a long moment. It was now and then obscured by his slate hair, whipping around in frenzy, his one visible eye quivering slightly. There was no compassion in his master's countenance, no concern in his question. But that was his master. Or was it? Was this demon reincarnation just a farce-like copy of the original Ciel Phantomhive? Sebastian didn't know how much he cared to dwell on that.

'I asked you a question, Sebastian. I demand an answer.'

Perhaps it was his master, after all.

Sebastian Michaelis smiled ever so slightly. 'No, young master, I do not hate them. Demons do not feel, and therefore do not hate, so I do not.'

**A/N: Oookayy I know that was kinda abrupt...what do you guys think so far? I already have the last chapter written, I'm just working on the middle :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Chapter 1! Sorry it's not very long, you guys! I hope you like :) R&R pweeeze!**

**-Aesthetics-**

**_Chapter 1_**

'Redo it.'

'Boch-'

'I said _redo it_, you incompetent fiend. Do not make me repeat myself again. And I _hate_ that ridiculous molding -remove it!'

A white gloved hand placed on the breast of a black wool jacket. Gritted teeth.

'Yes, my lord.'

Receding footsteps.

Sebastian Michaelis stood silently in the Earl Phantomhive's bedroom. It was draped in the most exquisite shades of blue; spider-silk curtains the color of blackberries hung from the walls, their hems sweeping silently over the sapphire carpet. Satin bed linens shimmered a faint teal from their place on the enormous bed, while the midnight-blue walls stared ominously at the room's sole occupant. Sebastian eyed the décor dispassionately. There was not a room in all of Europe that could rival this one in terms of impeccable taste and undefiled exquisiteness; the Queen herself would be proud to have it in her extensive palace. Any nobleman, for that matter, would be thrilled with this room.

Except, that is, a one Ciel Phantomhive.

Sebastian could not even remember how many times he had redecorated, repainted, and remodeled his master's bedroom in an attempt to satisfy his taste.

'_Red? Pah. What use have I for a gaudy red bedchamber such as this? Redo it, Sebastian.'_

'_Yellow. How utterly repulsive.'_

'_What conceivable reason have I for needing windows? Remove them!'_

'_Really now, I was hoping for you to actually _think_ this time, demon. Are we not surrounded by black enough in this forsaken place? Do it again.'_

'_You think me a mouse, mm, is that it? I cannot breathe in this confined space! I require windows, you fool!'_

'_Who do you take me for, Elizabeth? Get rid of that green at once!'_

'_Cushions?'_

Each time the reasons became a little more outlandish, a little more absurd. Sebastian found that with each successive change, a little more time, and a little more effort was required to meet his master's demands. And now, as the demon butler eyed his latest unworthy handiwork, his gloved hands clenched into vice-like fists.

_This is ridiculous. Is this my punishment? To be demoted to a soulless, demon-brat's decorator? He can't keep changing his mind...he can't..._

Or could he?

Sebastian knew very well that he could, indeed.

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Ciel Phantomhive sat motionless in a straight-backed wooden chair, staring silently into the dying embers of the morning's fire. The coals rippled slowly, what little life left of them threading slowly back and forth in the form of blue-tinged glow.

_How utterly useless you have become, you silly fire. Powerful once, yes, but now? Nothing but a pointless mockery of your former flame. What good is your faint glow? You look more akin to water than fire. What use are you to anyone now, if you are not your true form?_

The embers did not so much as hiss a reply. The boy sighed. Exactly when he had taken to criticizing the kitchen fire, he wasn't sure. Time was such a fickle, elusive thing here, wherever 'here' was. How long had they been in this place?

Ciel tapped his fingers slowly on the plain arm rests of his chair, ticking off the numbers in his head.

_Buttons, buttons...4424 buttons buttoned...7 buttons a shirt...how many days, how many days...632? Sebastian buttoned 632 shirts...but nightshirts also? Only 3 buttons on a nightshirt...so 10 buttons a day...not including tonight's nightshirt...442? 442 days...more than a year..._

'Strange,' the Earl said aloud, 'it feels ever so much longer than that.'

The fireplace murmured a soft responding crackle, and fell silent again.

Ciel continued, musingly, 'Sebastian is old, very old...how did he not go mad, living for such a long time?'

_He wasn't chained to you for most of it._

The young Phantomhive's fingers dug into the arm rests. 'He brought that upon himself. His self-serving greed was his undoing; I had nothing to do with it.'

At this pronouncement, the coals hissed out something eerily similar to a laugh.

_Nothing to do with it, indeed._

**A/N: Don't worry, I promise we are getting somewhere... :)**


	3. Chapter 2

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'Oh my my my, this is _really_ quite a sight. That color looks _dashing_ against your skin, Sebas-_chan. Please_ tell me you are sewing our wedding garments in preparations for our inevitable passionate union!'

Grell could have sworn he heard Sebastian's eyes roll in their sockets.

The spectacled reaper (and subsequently the owner of the not-so-welcome voice) lounged comfortably in the doorway to the Earl Phantomhive's bedchambers, one manicured eyebrow cocked delightfully at the demon sitting cross legged in the floor, surrounded by a pile of exquisite white silk. The normally pristine room was in a substantial and uncharacteristic amount of disarray. Arm chairs stood bare and neglected in every corner, stripped of their upholstery, while the obscene number of windows against the far wall stared blankly into the room, devoid of their drapings, allowing the eerie morning light to pour in uncondensed on the carpetless floor. The overlying smell of fresh paint hung in the air as it dried snow-white on the walls.

In all actuality, if Sebastian had to admit it (and he _never_ would, especially to _Grell_, of all the insufferable people), it really was a sight unheard of, a demon buried up to his chin in snow white cloth. White gloves were one thing. _This_ was utterly ridiculous. Sebastian closed his eyes briefly as an infinitesimal shiver of extreme aversion trickled through him.

'You know how much I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Sutcliff,' Sebastian said calmly, voice dripping with hardly-masked cynicism, and bringing his eyes back to his project, 'but I'm afraid that my whole self is inevitability chained to that of my master. That leaves precious little for you.' Sebastian's amber eyes cut a quick glance to where Grell leaned lazily against the freshly painted wall, pouting like some sort of puppy and looking utterly ridiculous, as usual. A small sigh escaped the demon's lips.

'Please do me a favor and don't smudge the paint, I just finished the third coat.'

Instead of moving away from the freshly painted wall, Grell, true to form, assumed 'don't' meant 'do.' The reaper's face scrunched dramatically as he brought his face parallel with the wall, scrutinizing the gloss. Grell chortled under his breath. 'Third coat, mmm? Even for you, Sebas-_chan_, that seems a little much, mmm?' Grell paused momentarily before clasping his hands together dramatically. 'OH but I find your impeccable eye for detail ever so irresistible! In fact, had I...'

Sebastian sat stony-faced amidst a towering pile of creamy-white fabric, doing his best to tune out the reaper's inane prattle. Grell's visits had become a bi-weekly event, which was two-too-many times in one week for Sebastian's taste. _Really, you think that even_ he_ would take a hint after a while..._ Sebastian's gloved hands (which had not paused in the slightest throughout the exchange) flew over the satin fabric, in a fluid back and forth, over and under motion, transforming it with deft needle strokes, yard by yard, into an assortment of beautifully pleated pillows.

Beautifully pleated _white_ pillows.

If the color of the fabric wasn't repulsive enough (which, to Sebastian, it was), a formidable pile of snow-white swan feathers sat directly across from him, waiting patiently to be turned into stuffing. The butler was disgusted; the feathers reminded him of angel wings, and angel wings weren't high on his list of enjoyments. Even Grell ranked higher on the list. Well, sometimes. The reaper had not ceased speaking since he walked through the door; honestly, it was like he had diarrhea of the mouth. Sebastian's mouth quirked into an almost indistinguishable smile at the thought. The prospect of-

'...really, it's almost disgusting how that _boy _likes you so much. What does he have that I don't? Really, I don't unde-'

Sebastian's hands froze; his ears registering Grell's words for almost the first time in 20 minutes. Without turning his head, the butler slowly raised one eyebrow. 'If by ''like'', Mr. Sutcliff, you mean "constantly sentencing me to be his interior decorator and then performing the most time-consuming tasks known to man or demon", then yes, I suppose the young master _likes_ me very much," he said smoothly, fighting back a grimace. It seemed that the longer the young master stayed in the house, the more elaborate his demands became. When he wasn't counting out exactly 2,684 tea leaves into the master's cup at supper time, Sebastian was running to the far corners of the earth to fetch a useless and petty trinket of some sort that hadn't even been invented yet, and this was all in between re-doing the master bedroom.

Grell rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently, like he was speaking to a small child. '_That's_ exactly what I'm talking about, Sebas-_chan_! Really, for someone so beautiful, you can be painfully slow sometimes.' The look on Sebastian's face was obviously not satisfactory for the redhead, so he continued to elaborate, 'That _boy_ knows very well how much you don't like it here, and how very much you resent him, and constantly being around him...although, honestly, you don't have to be a genius to know that one. Anyway. Why else would he keep sending you on all these 'quests'?' Grell inserted a dramatic set of air quotes on the word 'quests.' 'It gets you out of this _dreary_ house and away from his odious self.'

The reaper continued to prattle on about some nonsense involving Ciel's age, or his hair color, or something, but Sebastian Michaelis heard none of it. His mind was racing. _No, surely not. Not _Bocchan. _He doesn't have a charitable bone in that soulless body of his. _

_Does he? _

_Grell might be incredibly inept and annoying in most respects, but he's been around long enough to be somewhat of an expert on people's motives. Could that even be possible?_

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Sebastian braced himself for the onslaught of scything comments that, up until now, had been all but avoidable. He stood in silence, two steps behind Ciel as his master's slate eyes raked slowly, ever so slowly across the room. It was achingly beautiful. Every last detail shone with a light of its own, it seemed, screaming the workmanship of the meticulous butler. It was white, very white, but it was breath taking.

The young demon's silence screamed through the room. Sebastian assumed this meant that the younger demon was formulating a particularly scathing barrage of remarks to hurl his way, and started to compose his emotionless face. Instead, the boy's shoulders sagged almost undetectably in a rather uncharacteristically Phantomhive way. Ciel walked silently across the downy carpet and laid the tapered fingers of one hand lightly on the colorless wall, allowing them to rest there for a moment. A small sigh escaped his lips. Ciel turned his head slightly, not quite meeting the butler's eye, and murmured, 'Really Sebastian, three coats of paint?'

'Yes _Bocchan_, only the finest for you.'

Ciel turned his attention back to the wall, and whispered quietly to himself, 'I don't think I've heard you say a sincere thing to me since I met you...'

Sebastian's forehead crumpled slightly. 'Pardon me, _Bocchan_?'

'Nothing. That will be all for today.'

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**A/N: Almost there...**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Can't decide if this will be the last chapter...enjoy!**

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_Bocchan!_

The sharp click of patent leather heels sounded once, twice, on the marble tiles of the Phantomhive foyer. That was all Sebastian needed before he was airborne above the floor, stairs, and then the upstairs hallway leading to Ciel's bedroom.

White gloved hands threw open the wooden door to the Earl Phantomhive's room, wrenching it off of its iron hinges. The butler drew up short in the doorway, momentarily stopped at the sight of his master's room. Red, red, everywhere red. The fireplace cackled to itself from the corner, glowing angrily, while the once-pristine carpet boasted a new, macabre pattern of scarlet.

And then there was the young master.

The right side of Ciel's pale face was covered with blood, his normally pristine starched collar stained crimson.

'Bocchan-'

The pale fingers of his right hand were as besmirched as the carpet, curled into an unwavering fist.

Ciel turned slightly at his butler's voice. 'Sebastian...' The boy withdrew a handkerchief from his overjacket and began methodically dabbing at the blood on his face. The butler lurched forward, covering the distance between himself and his charge in two strides, and dropping to his knees before the boy. 'Bocchan, let me.' He said, reaching for the bloodied handkerchief.

A small smile tinged the corners of Ciel's mouth. 'No, Sebastian,' he said, lightly brushing Sebastian's hands away from his face. 'It is not your job. And you'd stain those gloves of yours, anyway.'

The taller demon's eyebrows plowed downwards in confusion. This was the first time those words had come out of the young Phantomhive's mouth. Ever.

'Are you ill, Bocchan?' he said. 'Did you forget...?' Sebastian tugged off the starched white glove of his left hand, and inhaled sharply in a very uncharacteristically Sebastian way.

Ciel, seemingly oblivious to his butler's reaction, took Sebastian's hand in his own, looked at it curiously, and brushed a thumb lightly over the pale, smooth surface, tracking a smear of blood across the immaculate skin. He smiled a self-contented smile, like he was proud of some unknown accomplishment.

Sebastian, however, was staring at his pale hand as if he had never seen it before. 'The contract seal,' he choked, '...its...its...'

'...fading.' Ciel finished for him. And it was. The mark that had been so permanently branded on Sebastian's hand for months now flickered uncertainly in and out of sight atop the butler's left hand.

'...as I expected it would be,' Ciel continued, as if nothing were amiss. 'I don't know why I didn't see it before.'

The earl chuckled quietly at his own joke, uncurling the clenched fingers of his right hand. 'Perhaps it is because your own eye is particularly hard to see.' Ciel studied the gory object in his hand with a curious and unconcerned thoughtfulness. Sebastian's face blanched a full shade lighter than his already pale complexion, suddenly realizing what it was that his master held.

_No no no no no, Bocchan, what have you done to yourself?_

An eye.

A right eye, specifically.

Sebastian seized the boy's face (because he was still a boy, wasn't he? Demon or no, Earl or no, he was a boy!) between his hands, taking in the extent of the young Earl's injury for the first time. The entirety of the right eye was gone, gouged out with a daft and inexpert hand. Along with it, Ciel's right eyelid hung in tatters, useless, exposing the eye socket like a cavern.

'Bocchan,' Sebastian's normally unwavering voice came out in a low, horrified whisper _'what have you done?'_

Ciel sighed resignedly. 'You have been many things, Sebastian, but inept is not one of them. In fact, had it not been for you, I doubt this idea would have ever even occurred to me.' He laughed humorlessly at the look of abject confusion plastered on his demon butler's face. 'Had you not lost your arm,' he explained, 'and subsequently your hand that night on the bridge, you would have been able to take my soul on the Island of Death, no? I took a gamble and assumed that would work both ways.' The young Ciel smiled slightly. 'As usual, I was right. However, your arm along with the mark returned to you.'

Here the slate-haired demon paused, thoughtful, staring enigmatically at the brown eyes that hung sunken in the older demon's worried face mere inches from his own. An entirely unrelated part of Ciel Phantomhive's mind mused at this. _Sebastian, surely that isn't worry? My, you said that demons didn't feel... _

The boy demon continued aloud; 'As for me, however, that possibility shall be removed.' Reaching up, he curled his fingers over the long hands that still arrested his face, removed them gently, and placed them gingerly back in Sebastian's lap. Ciel stood slowly and steadily to his feet, and turned away from the older demon, who was still kneeling in the bloodstained carpet.

_What is he doing?_

'Bocchan, please, wait...' Sebastian's eyes drove darts into the boy's back, and Ciel could feel them as plain as day. Something inside him twitched, surprised, at his butler's request. Still, he stepped silently to the fireplace, not daring to turn around, lest his nerves desert him. The young Phantomhive extended his right arm over the crackling fire, palm up. The flames licked greedily at the blood that dripped off of his hand; red melding with red.

Sebastian's mind finally caught up with the boy's. _Oh no..._

'Wait, Bocchan, please, wait- don't do that-'

Ciel finally turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the older demon's eye. When Ciel spoke, he spoke softly, desperately, his face suddenly shifting. For the first time since Sebastian had laid eyes on the 12 year old boy, Ciel looked his age. 'I am not cruel, Sebastian,' he whispered. 'I am not cruel, I am simply just.' He turned his face back towards the flames, hands clenched tightly, and tears, of all things, began pooling in his eyes. Ciel choked out something between a chuckle and a sob. 'Imagine that, a demon playing fair,' the boy murmured softly to himself, so softly that Sebastian barely caught it.

Ciel's body suddenly stiffened, and his voice jumped a whole octave higher; 'I am _just_, and because of it the world thought me unkind, selfish, harsh!' The boy started quivering violently. 'They don't know _anything_ about ju-'

Ciel didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. The next thing his mind registered was pale hands turning him by his shoulders, and then the rough wool of Sebastian's coat rubbing against his face. Sebastian knelt in front of the boy, long arms smothering Ciel against the butler's solid chest. Cold lips brushed against the boy's forehead repeatedly, murmuring quietly.

'Why do you think I wanted you, Bocchan? This wretched world is filled to the brim of selfish, self-serving souls. Not all demons are mindless creatures, you know, devouring any soul that comes their way.' Sebastian pushed the boy back just far enough so that he could look into his face. 'Do you know how ill I had become of the pitiful, weak, and ''hard done by'' in this world? Yours was the first soul of its kind I had come across in centuries. '

Ciel stared at his butler through watery eyes, the right shedding blood instead of tears. For the longest time, neither of them spoke.

It was Ciel who finally broke the silence.

'After my parents died, the foolish, childish part of me latched onto you as some sort of father figure. Yes, it was an infinitesimal, microscopic part of me, but it was there none-the-less. That 12 year old boy needed someone, anyone. Demented, I know, you being the demon you are. For the most part I was able to keep it nicely suppressed, and it left me unimpeded to continue with my work.'

Ciel paused, his forehead crumpled in thought, one good eye searching for something in the butler's face.

'You lied to me, Sebastian. You told me that demons could not feel...'

With that, Ciel Phantomhive softly, softly, brushed his butler's lips with his own.

'...but I am a demon, and I do.'

Sebastian Michaelis blinked rapidly. 'Bocchan-'

'' 'You ought to think about what a master owes a butler who has fought for him' '' interrupted the young Earl. 'I am so quick to give advice, and so slow to take it.' He smiled briefly, before lightly placing a hand on Sebastian's cheek. 'What does this master owe a butler who has fought for him?'

The butler, in turn, placed both of his pale hands on the boy's cold face. 'I love you, Ciel,' he whispered.

' ''_Love? How distasteful. You don't understand Sebastian...'' '_

Ciel sighed, glancing at his butler with one teary eye, and started to untangle himself from Sebastian's grasp. 'You're lying to me again, you fool; you only ever loved my soul, not me.'

Sebastian let out something akin to a growl, and tightening his grip of Ciel's face, firmly enveloped the boy's mouth with his own. His cold lips sucked greedily, unrelentingly at the boy's. Ciel stiffened momentarily, rendered seemingly immobile, and for half a moment Sebastian was worried his master would pull away.

His fear disproved itself almost instantly.

The young Earl whimpered softly before responding with equal intensity. His mouth worked and moved in rhythm with his butler's, their tongues and lips warring in perfect sync. Demons _did_ feel, Ciel realized, and they felt very acutely. Bloody tears ran down his face, and for the first time since before his parent's death, the Earl felt a foreign tinge of something light and warm curl in his belly.

Happiness?

'_Now a demon, happy? Now this is really getting ridiculous...'_

With that thought, Ciel smiled slightly against his butler's lips. Sebastian paused momentarily, still gripping Ciel's face in his hands. He peered curiously at his charge's face. 'Bocchan...? Are you alright?' He worried momentarily that the boy might be delirious.

Ciel pinched Sebastian's chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, and looked up at his butler's face. 'Yes,' he said, 'I'm wonderful.'

The boy dropped his hand to the top button of Sebastian's starched white shirt, and slowly slipped it from its hole. _Buttons, buttons, how many buttons, how many days? _Ciel paused, and inspected his butler for any signs of apprehension. Sebastian was staring at him intently, but when Ciel saw no trace of anger or distaste, he quickly worked the remaining five buttons loose, baring the older demon's pale flawless chest.

Sebastian quivered almost imperceptibly as Ciel traced a forefinger down his sternum, dropping his hands to rest on the boy's thin shoulders. 'How strange I find it,' Ciel mused, 'that the only shirt I've ever unbuttoned is yours...'

Ciel looked up at his butler, arresting his brown eyes. '''You ought to think about what a master owes a butler who has fought for him..."' he whispered again, '...fought for him, and sacrificed everything without reward.' Threading a hand through the butler's midnight hair, Ciel pulled Sebastian's face down level with his own, and kissed him gently, gently. The boy's eyes arrested those of the older demon, as if trying to communicate something he couldn't describe. 'I am just, Sebastian, and I owe you this.' Ciel kissed the taller demon with a sudden ferocity that surprised even Sebastian.

The fire suddenly cackled wildly, spitting up little shards of flames.

Sebastian's eyes shot open as his left hand simultaneously erupted with a small flurry of sparks, knocking him backwards out of Ciel's grasp. The tall demon opened his mouth to scream in pain, but the sight before him shattered him to silence.

Ciel's face, covered with blood.

Ciel's face, covered with tears.

And Ciel's right hand, stretched over the fireplace, palm down.

Empty.

'_I am just, Sebastian, and I owe you this.'_

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**A/N: Well?**


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